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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24148912">Origin of Song</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cagnition/pseuds/cagnition'>cagnition</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hollow Knight (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Death in the Family, Family, Finding Oneself, Finding Purpose, Found Family, Gen, Moving On, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 19:08:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,911</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24148912</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cagnition/pseuds/cagnition</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Time... like many things, is a can be a terribly flighty a fickle entity-- and can make you forget many things about yourself, but one thing you must never forget is who you were... or where you came from.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Peculiar Sight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>To say the humble mining town of Ashbarrow was something of a hot spot for visitors… was something of an outright lie. At the very best the riverside burrow of bugs with their underground homes all tucked away and spent their daily lives so caught in the humdrum of the daily workings of the mining town’s operations… few ever really seemed to look out…</p><p>Or for that matter… up…</p><p>But for Nymm… that was all he ever really seemed to do.</p><p>Humming soft and swinging legs over the river’s edge, feet swishing in the cool water, eyes trailed over the pitch night skies and drew lines that connected the bright lights far beyond, making up stories for each shape, and names for what they looked like--</p><p>That one… looked like an archer…</p><p>Oh, and that one a beetle--!</p><p>And the next--</p><p>“Nymm--! There you are-- Nymwae was wondering if you were at the riverside again”</p><p>He lifted his head, turning to glance back and spied the short and lithe figure of his youngest brother, bounding forward to close the distance between him and the river’s edge. Hopping to land on his rear and splash feet into the river, the many scaled waterbeasts all but scattered on the sudden plunge into the cool depths, much to Nymm’s dismay.</p><p>There was a subtle laugh at the expression that painted his elder brother’s face, all but a pout that flitted between him and the water’s edge and his now soaked cowl, holding arms out at his sides to heave a weighty sigh at his brother. “I told you not to just leap at the water like that--”</p><p>And with that, he feebly attempted to ring the water from the fur of his shawl.</p><p>Again his brother gave a bubbling laugh, fanning his hand through the air, “Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to, you always react the same, I couldn’t help it--”</p><p>And with a jab of his elbow, leaning to the side, nudging his brother with a softly snorted chortle, he shakes his head, “If you couldn’t help it, then I suppose I don’t have to tell the elder you’re causing trouble again”</p><p>“You wouldn’t!”</p><p>“Ah, but I would--”</p><p>“And here I came to tell you about the circus outside of town!”</p><p>He feigned grand hurt, a theatrical swish of his hand to his brow, swishing legs through the water with no fear for any beasts that may lurk beneath as any other villager to this bustling mining town that lived so far beneath the surface often did.</p><p>Nymm blinked in confusion, “Circus…?”</p><p>Why would a circus come to this place?</p><p>The people so rarely left the underground that the cirque would surely lose more profit than they would gain in their daily operations, wouldn’t they? And the people here were so wary of strangers they would more often drive outsiders out of the village should they move into town seeking work--</p><p>If you weren’t born in Ashbarrow… then you were often not welcome in Ashbarrow.</p><p>Even then, you usually had to work in the ore mines to earn the approval of the town, let alone your own family, no matter the dangers of the mines and what it could do to you the longer you stayed in it. Pale ore was valuable, incredibly so, and very rare, anyone that found a vein of it was hailed as the village champion until the next was found--</p><p>But it was so rare, usually, it meant they would follow that one vein to its depletion, or until the channel collapsed from how unsteady the earth surrounding pale ore could be, and search until the end of the decade and offer up the title of the champion to anyone that put in the grit to hunt down the next channel, organize a group to clear the collapsed rubble, or be lucky enough to go onto the surface and hunt down the next place they would move the village and scour the earth for that precious metal.</p><p>All for the glory of the nearest civilization that had started up but a few decades back-- or at least so Nymm knew.</p><p>It was so hard to keep track of things like that, but he knew it was under fifty cycles old, something about their Higher Being King bringing their immortal kingdom into being from the nothingness-- ah, he was uncertain of the entire situation.</p><p>Their parents; to him, his brother, and his elder twin sister, Nymwae-- had been the ones that had founded this village’s latest location, and reigned as the town’s champions until the eventual collapse that killed the both of them two cycles back.</p><p>Elder called it a curse, said that the neighboring villages were jealous and slung their dark magic on them out of jealousy for what they had going--</p><p>Shortly after, the vein they had had finally begun to dry up.</p><p>And with it, a lot of people finally began to believe what the elder was trying to say about the towns that surrounded them… and with it the loathing of all outsiders that came.</p><p>It left him to really wonder… with the reputation Ashbarrow had… why would anyone <em>want</em> to come to this place…</p><p>His brother gave a bouncing nod, proud, “Yes! A circus! I told you something interesting would come to this place someday! Who knows, maybe they’ve heard of our illustrious abilities and have come to recruit us--”</p><p>And with that, he gave a snort and bark of a laugh, that of which drew a barking laugh from his brother as well.</p><p>Such an idea was absolutely ludicrous, no one knew of this town but the other mining towns that scoured this earth for the pale ore and other metals to sculpt out nails, needles, and other blades for the traveling warriors that came through town-- as well as the nailsmiths that came through seeking to make their magnum opus.</p><p>It was not that he minded such an idea, someone using such a material so fine to sculpt their greatest work from it with no limit to the design or intricacies that littered its blade and its every inch, but--</p><p>He supposed he did not like what came with once the blade was completed.</p><p>The tradition of the death of the nailsmith…</p><p>The dark deeds cast upon the lands by the rogue fighters that drew their blades with pride upon anyone that dared to stand in their paths…</p><p>Somethings he just hated this place for what it could bring…</p><p>Other times he loved it for what it could create…</p><p>“I highly doubt we’ve been <em>recognized for our great talents</em>, I may be good with a lute and an accordion when the elder will let me lay hands on his grandson’s old one, but I highly doubt that is why they have come to visit this humdrum little town, brother”</p><p>And by the look on his face, he agreed.</p><p>It was almost as though he knew why, but knowing his brother, no matter of tickling nor attacking him with plaguing questions would pry the answer from him.</p><p>It would slip from him when he himself fell to slip.</p><p>But it made him sort of… wonder.</p><p>Tugging legs nearer and swishing them out far to cast a wave of water with a grand plume of the force of his legs, the waterbeasts returning slowly flitted away, bringing a soft chuckle to hum in his brother’s chest.</p><p>Thinking a moment, head dipping forward to stare at the waters and a hum leaving him in thought, his face scrunched on the left side, tilting his head then to the right.</p><p>“Where did you even <em>see</em> the circus…?”</p><p>And it was as though he had given him the greatest gift that he ever could have come to know. Pulling legs from the water and pushing himself from the ground, he grabbed his arm and tugged, “Come on! I’ll show you!”</p><p>He only ever got this excited when he had proof--</p><p>A soft of shock spiraled into being in Nymm’s belly… but uncertainty followed it… maybe he had seen a caravan?</p><p>But as he stumbled to his feet and staggered after his brother, whom seemed hellbent on dragging him along at the fact that he had somehow managed to allure him with the promise of some answer to this great promise he had made of this visitor at the edge of their widespread town.</p><p>Stumbling over the edges of the low crests and round the high cliff faces of once full ore veins, his far shorter brother drug him along, an eagerness to his step and rounding the last of the far cliff edges to bare the glow that caught Nymm’s eye.</p><p>W… what…?</p><p>His eyes grew wide, staggering after his brother, a vigor now to his own step and no longer stumbling but racing alongside to stare on with a wide-eyed awe once they nigh tripped to a stop at the cliff’s edge that divided them from the grand cirque just beyond the grand chasm.</p><p>His eyes nigh twinkled with awe, darting to his brother, “How did you even find them--?”</p><p>“I haven’t had the chance to visit yet, but I had a weird feeling today and searched the fringes all morning-- I’m weaving a bridge to get across tomorrow”</p><p>And he snorted, shaking his head.</p><p>“You’re terrible at weaving, no <em>I’ll</em> weave the bridge to throw across and land on the spike over yonder, you’ll just get the honor of introducing us… you know how… terrific… I can be with new folk...”</p><p>And he bounced his head with a giddiness!</p><p>“It’s a plan then! Tomorrow!”</p><p>“Tomorrow”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Introductions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Angling duty… why did he <em>always</em> end up with <em></em><em>angling</em> duty-- was it that he was outright terrible with a pickaxe? Or was it that he faked it just so that he could avoid the underground as best he could to be out and watch the skies turn round and the sun and moon bare their light to the earth.</p><p>He chuckled a bit, humming under his breath with the long posted branch wedged in the dirt waiting for something to be snagged on the line, with a net far down the water’s line to catch anything he couldn’t catch here.</p><p>The pub in town had been a place, though it was a place of social gathering, that many folk of the town spent their time after leaving the mines to spend their well-earned geo, and take their mind off the work of the mines or the waters beyond to keep the town fed or funded.</p><p>Their family, because they had been the children of the town champions, had lived in the town’s center manor hut, almost as fine as the Elder’s himself, close to the pub-- well… close enough that you could hear them drunkenly sing their shanties and mining songs through the night in jolly tunes and laugh and carry on before the pub closed to open the next night.</p><p>Over… cross, under-- knot, over… cross, under… knot…</p><p>It was repetitive, weaving something thick enough to support the weight of him and his brother-- let alone from the reeds and watergrass to be found out here when he was stuck eyeing the angling rod and making certain it didn’t fall in if the beast tugged too hard.</p><p>But he had to admit, the idea of stepping through the open gate of that grand tent and seeing what may lay beyond. It was… rather exhilarating. Oh what instruments and performers did they have, what mirth was had, what arts!</p><p>Singing low under his breath, a lower favorite of a barman’s shanty, Nymm seemed to be the only thing quite breaking the silence aside from the cool rush of the thin river before him.</p><p>
  <em>          “</em>
  <em>And it's no, nay, never</em>
  <em><br/>
</em>
  <em>           No, nay, never, no more,</em>
  <em><br/>
</em>
  <em>           Will I play the </em>
  <em>wild </em>
  <em>rover</em>
  <em><br/>
</em>
  <em>           No never, no more--”</em>
</p><p>He was frowned upon in many ways in this town, such a strong bug, and yet he focused on such frivolities and refused to work in the mines, such a proud trade to take up as their parents had taken up before, as his sister did… as his brother did.</p><p>But he chose these frivolous arts… weaving, music for the bars, carving, casting lines he had braided from fibers, knotting nets-- they called it frivolous but he knew the value for the collective in it, what food it brought, what merry it inspired, what it did for the town though they shunned him for it.</p><p>He was not welcome here… but he was fine with that… so long as he had his sister and brother, he was fine with that.</p><p>He was close to his sister, but closer to his brother.</p><p>With the death of their parents, the youngest of them, younger then Nymm by two cycles-- had receive the news of the collapse and their deaths taken at but the age of fifteen cycles, Nymm himself but seventeen-- it had been all he could do to support his sister and brother and keep his brother from falling to pieces.</p><p>His hands slowed, words slowing to a hum in thought…</p><p>How had it already been two cycles.</p><p>It didn’t ache as bad…</p><p>But it still hurt to see that the folk of the town were already so ready and eager to search for the next champion of the town, find the next vein though this one was undepleted, scour the land, and tear down the portraits and sculpted busts to stow away with the fallen champions in the town hall.</p><p>He wanted to say he felt bitter…</p><p>But he couldn’t contest what they knew was but tradition of the town…</p><p>His thoughts almost seemed to consume him, thinking then deeper and deeper before he caught a gleam of red from the corner of his eye, a flash and he glanced down, a grunt of surprise as the braided reeds he held in hand seemed to have caught alight at the furthest end where the reeds were still unraveled.</p><p>Quick, he dunked the end in the near set water’s edge and sighed in relief, tugging it out for eyes to draw wide as it steamed and sparked.</p><p>By the skies’ blooming colors… what in…</p><p>No-- no!</p><p>Pressing it to the riverbed sand, he was quick to grind it into the sand beneath his palm, trying his damnedest to snuff out the flames but feeling their heat spark and flicker.</p><p>“No— come on— I spent half the day on this it’ll take me all the rest of the day to get back to this point” He grit teeth as his hand began to ache with the sting of heat burning his hand’s carapace, scooping damp sand he again ground it firm to the sparking flames that threatened to consume the entire bridge he’d been working on.</p><p>“It is unfortunate, as you are not the one to have summoned us...”</p><p>And he jolted, head snapping up, eyes stark wide to spy a figure standing but feet away and towering above him, shocking red eyes locked on him.</p><p>“Why do you weave such a structure, if you are not the one intended to come upon our grounds…”</p><p>His voice was shocking, as was much of him, raspy and ashen in a sense-- though it almost seemed everything surrounding him was broiling hot, enough so he could spy the braided line to his casting rod has burst into orange flames and fallen into the water to hiss and put itself out.</p><p>Ah! No! The elder was going to be furious!</p><p>“I--! It was a bridge--” His gaze darted from the now hot stream water to the bug, not daring to fall on his rump, but craning his neck to stare up at him. He had always considered himself tall among the villagers, but this stranger put him to absolute shame.</p><p>“I see that-- but why construct it… I do request you tell me before I set the entire thing ablaze--”</p><p>“Don’t--!” He shouted, low voice raising for the first time he could recall within the last few years, eyes darted to the bridge, still smothering the building embers with a hissed grunt, “It was for my brother--! He’s the one that found the circus beyond the chasm, but he couldn’t get across, neither could I-- without me he can’t get there or back, I started weaving this so we could get through the obstacle tonight when the town went to sleep--”</p><p>The bug’s eyes never narrowed, but they did not shift from him either, seeming almost trained on him to a shockingly eerie sense. But he lifted his own stare and locked back with it, a sort of bubbling fear building in his chest at the bug’s presence, burning and low, but he refused to let it rise further than the place it had made in, so, much like the embers beneath his hands-- with burning force… he smothered it.</p><p>As best he could at least...</p><p>Only then, did he see a subtle shift of the bug’s head to the side, subtle but the faintest tilt given-- as though intrigued. “Intriguing…”</p><p>His brow furrowed, blinking and glancing to the embers, then back to the bug only to find him gone-- at least from before him, now standing far from him, across the stream’s waters to towering elegantly on the silvered sands of the yonder beach.</p><p>“I believe you will do… my friend… you have my apologies for my assumptions as to your intent— I will see you at the earliest hour your brother and you are free, yes?” The ashen voice hissed through the air, curled cloak tucked about him neatly and fluttering slowly in the cool breeze as though it carries its own life to it.</p><p>He stared on, almost baffled, blinking, and nodded.</p><p>“I will see you then… what is your name…?” His words fell almost bumbling from him, the embers beneath his hands, at last, dying out and falling cool beneath the wet sand.</p><p>He squared his shoulders ever the slightest, “I am Grimm, Master of Troupe beyond the chasm’s fault, and you, my friend?”</p><p>He blinked, stumbling a moment to think on his own name, but the moment seeming moreso as a skipped beat of mistrust.</p><p>“Nymm…”</p><p>There was then a moment where the stranger nodded and gave a bow to him, “A pleasure, my friend… my apologies once more for such destruction caused… I will see you before the day’s end, yes?”</p><p>And he gave a firmer nod, certain now, yes. This is what his brother wanted, of course, he would.</p><p>“Excellent”</p><p>And it was stupendous--</p><p>A bow and in a whirlwind of red, smoke enveloped the towering bug, and he gave a tight whirlwind turn, pulling himself tight within the cloak and curling straighter than a rod, and in a rush of the same fire that had almost consumed his bridge, blooming and tremendous, the stranger was consumed in the flames and like paper in the hearth--</p><p>Gone.</p><p>To say the least…</p><p>He was baffled but…</p><p>Fascinated-- dare he say, enchanted.</p><p>Was this what this so called ‘Troupe’ had within its walls?</p><p>Color him intrigued…</p><p>Color him very--</p><p><em>Wait</em>, the line!</p><p>Attention snapped back to his destroyed line to find it back in place and pristine, gleaming with a subtle red hue. He could swear his mandible had dropped at the sight of it, blinking in a befuddled sputter of confusion and confounded fascination with just who and <em>what</em> that bug could be.</p><p>Head turned, looking back to his half-empty basket of waterbeasts for the local restaurants, with five separate set near him for this side, and ten others for the net downstream.</p><p>Only to find all fifteen packed full of the flopping beasts, still gleaming with water-- and that same red hue.</p><p>He supposed this counted as his apology.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The song he's singing is a real drinking song, called Wild Rover (No Nay Never), a very old one-- I figured it fitting considering his mindset. </p><p>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n-_JFaudyok </p><p>You can listen to it here to catch the melody of it, but know that he's just a songful lad that likes to fill the silence. Overall? I like writing this fic-- haven't seen many origin fics for the troupe--</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Strange Tidings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>When you are the only bardic bug within the town, it tends to draw unwanted attention-- often destructive at its very best.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Elder had been elated with the haul he had brought in, the waterbeasts would be enough to feed the small town for many moons, let alone for just the night. That was to say, if they managed to salt and preserve the meat then they’d have enough for surviving the cold of this cycle’s end-- this place could be brutal in such times, but ah, now was not the time to think on such topics.</p><p>Though this did bring him to the forefront of the town’s attention.</p><p>“Perhaps we should make you the head of angling duty, Nymm, ahah!” Had been the comment of one far slimmer old pillbug that honed her years in the mines, and found her mirth in teasing the youngsters of the new ages.</p><p>“Ah, perhaps you are right, Ronma--” another called.</p><p>
  <em>No, anything but that. </em>
  <span>He was a bardic soul, strong as he may be, he was not meant to spend the entirety of his day </span>
  <em>angling</em>
  <span>. Though he did suppose it would give him much more time to work on the pieces he had neglected in the errands he had been running about the town for the Elder. </span>
</p><p>He politely hummed a soft laugh of forced mirth, but so well practiced that nary a soul but his siblings could pick it as a falsity. Ushering his hands in downward waves, he shook his head, “I could not take on such responsibility, this was but a stroke of luck”</p><p>And another of the group seemed to bark a laugh themselves, “We certainly could use such luck in the mines, young one--” Though he was hardly young-- well, he called himself as much, but he had only just passed through his adult molt but the cycle past.</p><p>Edging his way from the crowd, he never liked it when the subject pushed its way into this direction… and it seemed the townsfolk recognized as much when they saw it and stirred with a certain hum of discontent.</p><p>It was but a few townsfolk-- no more than ten at the most, but it was enough to get dangerous should they get angry with him.</p><p>But he wouldn’t let it get to him, edging through the fringes of the group and stepping free to walk toward the riverside he had been seated to finish the bridge’s weaving, he couldn’t help but catch what they heard them say.</p><p>“Nymm, you really must reconsider-- the mines are all this town has to offer.”</p><p>He gave a soft shake of his head, exhaling long and slow, ‘<em>not after the accident</em><span>’ He wouldn’t be caught dead in those mines after what they took from him. </span></p><p>“What a waste...”</p><p>A wince, and he slowed his pace, the bug himself giving a laugh, to which a few others tittered.</p><p>A long exhale and he picked up his stride toward the riverside…</p><p>Why did it hurt to hear them say such a thing, he brought them the gift from that stranger, he kept some for himself, certainly-- what bug wouldn’t. But he’d given so much to this town, he’d lived and breathed for this town, only for them to treat him like an outsider.</p><p>It wasn’t fair.</p><p>It wasn’t <em>fair…</em><span>! </span></p><p>
  <span>Perhaps there was a part of him that loved this town for its beauty, for its history, for the glory of its resilience-- but its people had grown so cold. The kingdom over yonder, he’d had the prickling thought but once that perhaps he could leave and find a new life there-- but the guilt at the idea of leaving his brother and sister… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaving Nymwae-- certainly she had her own family now, she was the eldest-- she had her own clutch of eggs to care for, and a betrothed to protect and care for her. But his brother… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d feel almost cruel leaving behind the only one in the village that ever wanted to leave this place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>No… he couldn’t leave… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well… maybe he could…?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mind flitted to the cirque and the stranger, </span>
  <span>and back to the bridge he had nigh finished.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had to speak with them… to his siblings, and to the stranger… to Troupe Master Grimm.</span>
</p><p>But first a detour, he needed something to distract himself from what they’d said. And round the bend, ducking through the doorway of his hut he shared with his siblings, his hand darted and grabbed his lute.</p><p>It had been a day since he’d last worked on his sheet music, grabbing up a book of thick sheets of handmade leafs of paper-- the townsfolk called him crazy for such a thing, what use was it, it wasn’t permanent like stone was.</p><p>Ah, but this was so much easier to manage-- they would see one day-- they had to (then again, with how they saw outsiders, they just may stick to stone forever).</p><p>He’d hardly be surprised if they did… stubborn old bugs.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Sweet melodies carried through the air of the riverbed’s surrounding stony, moss-covered hill, Nymm himself finding a spot nestled beneath the shade of a towering fungus to shade him, and he hummed low under his breath.</p><p>The song was carefree and warm, almost the opposite of the cold stone of the surrounding grounds, and almost beckoned the venue of a grassier knoll, and its towering trees-- of some place far away from here.</p><p>Ah, what had he gotten in his head, this was anything but what he’d set out to work on, originally attempting to write a somber piece at the Elder’s request-- this was far too light and, dare he say, bubbly, to be played for the man.</p><p>Slowing the plucking of the strings to a stop and placing his hand over top of them to silence them, he sighed.</p><p>“Awh, gonna stop your song?”</p><p>And he jolted, eyes falling wide in surprise, with a jolt, his head turned round-- spying three figures standing nearby, stronger looking fellows by the looks of it. Enough so to make Nymm doubt his ability to take them down by himself-- he was strong, fast when he wanted to be, but the last thing he needed was the town turning on him because he got in a fight and won.</p><p>“You know you really don’t got a reason to be playing such fanciful stuff, old fella.” One of them piped up, striding forward, and eyeing the seated bug over. Though it wasn’t long before Nymm rose to his pedipalps and took a wary step back as they drew nearer.</p><p>“No reason to be nervous, Nymm-- we just wanted to put a stop to this frivolous behavior--”</p><p>“For the good of the village.”</p><p>“<em>For the good of the village.”</em><span> The tallest of the three parroted, seeming to take up this mocked sincerity in a sense to purposefully set him off kilter. </span></p><p>
  <span>He furrowed his brow, swallowing a knot forming in his throat, and tightened his grip on his lute the littlest bit. He could practically hear it hitting the ground and shattering-- Two of them fanned out and stepped around him, encircling him and effectively cornering him to the </span>
  <span>base of the towering fungus. </span>
</p><p>“<span>Now are you going to make this easy for us” </span></p><p>
  <span>A small part of him said to run… but the prideful side of him that had stared down the fire in Grimm’s eyes refused to back down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He made no move… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stayed perfectly silent… all he did was narrow his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A nod of his head and the tallest of the three nudged for the one on his far left to grab the lute wordlessly. To which, he didn’t think he had it in him… almost holding still and letting them take it-- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hell, he even let the bug reach for it before his opposite hand knotted into a fist and drew back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a certain kind of satisfaction in the wide eyed look the could have been bully gave him before he clean clocked the bug enough to send him spinning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other two stared for a moment in wide-eyed shock, even Nymm sort of paused-- where had that fear gone of the townsfolk’s opinion of him from but moments ago. But in the next blink of a second, he was rushed by the other two, broiling with fury at their friend, now lying on the ground, out colder than the cool waters now lapping at his pedipalps from the river. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried to keep it tucked close, moving to turn away, before the shortest ducked beneath him and wrenched it out from under him, his grip weaker than he’d though it had been-- and tossed it to the taller bug, whom proceeded to give a triumphant laugh.</span>
</p><p>“<span>I was just gonna taunt you with it, but now? For that? I really am gonna break it.” </span></p><p>
  <span>There was an immediate jolt to try and dive to catch the lute before it could crash to the stony floor, before it could shatter, but he watched it swing down and-- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In what felt like a cataclysmic crunch of preciously rare wood, and the snapping of its strings, his lute… was left on the ground after one… then two strikes on the ground. He could feel the burning anger broil in his chest, hand shaking as it extended to grasp the shattered remains. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two still standing gave wild barking laughter at the bug’s shattered treasure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he lifted his head, burning tears welling as rage spilled over and he moved to lunge for the other two-- only for a wall of crimson flames to shoot up from the nothingness and divide them, sending the two stumbling back and blinding them then with wide eyed fear. </span>
</p><p>“<span>One finds mirth in the merrymaking of the bard, not the destruction of the bardic tools, peculiar-- as you are of a mining town--” The two were surrounded then by a wave of flames, that familiar crimson shade. </span></p><p>“<span>Perhaps I should destroy a pair of its tools, mm?”</span></p><p>
  <span>The tallest of the pair sputtered a cry of fear, “W-Wait! We didn’t mean any harm, he started it! He should have just followed tradition and we wouldn’t have come here in the first place--” The ring of flames tightened about them and the two scurried closer toward one another, clutching to one another’s shells. </span>
</p><p>“<span>If you intended no harm, you would not have come in the first place.”</span></p><p>
  <span>The voice seemed to have manifested from all around at first, then burning its place into existence right beside the ground strewn bug cradling the shattered lute, the figure of the Troupe Master appeared in a whirlwind of red and struck down like fire and lightning all in one. </span>
</p><p>“<span>Let them go...” Nymm murmured… to which Grimm gave no response, nor did he look down to eye the bug and discern the genuine nature of his statement or if it were to save his standing with the town. “I ask that you… just… release them.”</span></p><p>
  <span>He wanted them hurt… hurt like he hurt right now over this precious item now lost to the world. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he didn’t want them dead… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fiery eyes shifted to meet with Nymm’s, not turning his head, locking stares, and he could feel that burning fear try and surmount back within his being… but it was nothing he couldn’t control. It felt smaller now… or perhaps he felt stronger over it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the Troupe Master shut the fiery eyes but a moment, nodding a single bow of his head, and reopened eyes locked on the pair cowering in fear. </span>
</p><p>“<span>As you wish, my friend.”</span></p><p>
  <span>His hand slipped from beneath the robe and with a swish of his fingers through the air, the flames vanished </span>
  <span>and the pair cowered in fear before the pair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Striding forward with a pristine sort of grace, almost a sort of airiness to him, as though the world bore no weight on him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaning forward once but a few meters from the pair, “Should I ever so much as discern that you were in the company of my compatriot, I will see to it your waking days are filled with nothing but terror, are we clear.” It was hardly a question, more a statement of what to come should the two break their promise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With rapid bobbing nods, the two pressed backward the littlest bit to attempt to distance themselves from the towering entity before them. The tallest of the two stuttering to the other, “H-He’s real…” and it seemed to be the only thing he could repeat, stammering it in his heightened state of fear as the Troupe Master stood back tall and pristine. </span>
</p><p>“<span>Collect your friend and leave… </span><em>now…</em><span>” </span></p><p>
  <span>To which the pair scurried off the ground and rushed forward, grabbing their friend by his arms and legs and hefting him off the ground, the tallest of the lute’s destructors growingly frantic in his repetition of the words ‘he’s real’ spilling from his mandibles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It sort of made him laugh… it would have, </span>
  <span>but now he had no outlet for his muse. </span>
</p><p>“<span>Come… off the ground, my friend.”</span></p><p>
  <span>Eyes shifted to meet with the lithe hand before him, carefully lifting his own, and taking the hand to brace himself and rise back to his full height. </span>
</p><p>“<span>Can you repair it…” He murmured. </span></p><p>
  <span>The towering entity remained silent, tucking his hand back within his cloak and shifting the material to stand back neat and slim before the other. </span>
</p><p>“<span>You repaired the angling rod, and even filled the baskets… can you repair it, Troupe Master?” </span></p><p>
  <span>His head lifted, meeting that stare once more only to watch the eyes shut, “I must offer my apologies, my friend, for I cannot repair something with such loving memories tied to it-- an bug of my breed is bound to certain rules as well, you see, but a mundane object or beast-- certainly it is child’s play to repair. But this...” He gave a solemn shake of his head, reopening his eyes. “I am afraid it is lost, Nymm”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His shoulders sagged with defeat, only for Grimm to ask a new question when he thought all would be lost. </span>
</p><p>“<span>Are there any other instruments you perhaps are accustomed to?”</span></p><p>
  <span>Lifting his head, he blinked, thinking a moment, “Well, there’s the accordion, but the Elder is the only one in town with one and it was his grandson’s before the collapse took him--” He almost asked why before he spied the subtle tilt of a smile lilt across the Troupe Master’s face, and his hands both appear from beneath the cloak, a rush of crimson flames, a swirling rush of his hands, and as though born from nothingness… an accordion was carefully pressed into Nymm’s pedipalps. </span>
</p><p>“<span>I cannot repair such a thing… but I am able to create anew” </span></p><p>
  <span>Eyes held wide at the sight alone of the gift, looking over the peculiar instrument born from the husk of what was once alive, and he… smiled. Bowing before the other quickly, and then again, lingering then, he could hear that raspy voice </span>
  <span>chortle a low hum of bemused laughter. </span>
</p><p>“<span>Thank you, Troupe Master--”</span></p><p>“<span>Thanks are unnecessary, my friend, consider it a consolation gift for the loss of one precious instrument-- another to be gained, new memories to be made, yes?”</span></p><p>
  <span>A nod and he smiled once more, new memories indeed--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would have to bring his brother to see the cirque and meet this tremendous bug, there was no doubt about it, perhaps he had already been swayed by this new gift, but maybe he liked this cirque his brother had found. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I legitimately forgot about this fic for a while, but I do intend to actually finish it before the year is out, hopefully before October is out-- after that I may write a Grimm and Brumm Slowburn-- but that one may have to wait until I get a new computer.</p><p>Hopefully not and I can get some more writing in</p><p>Sorry if this is a weird paced chapter, I wanted to get the gift of the Accordion in before the next chapter-- but this leaves a total of 3 more before this one is complete as well</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is going to be short, maybe 6 - 8 chapters (well short for me) but this is going to have what I like to think is Brumm's origin story--</p></blockquote></div></div>
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